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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714556">Find Our Way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortheloveofjonsnow/pseuds/Fortheloveofjonsnow'>Fortheloveofjonsnow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Real World, American Colony, Arranged Marriage, Early 1700s, F/M, Historical, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Sad at First, This will be short, but happy ending, jon and sansa growing together</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:14:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714556</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fortheloveofjonsnow/pseuds/Fortheloveofjonsnow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Having married to please their parents, Sansa and Jon Targaryen must reconcile with each other, after Jon uproots them from England and moves them to the frontier of the New World.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>359</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. New World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have been experiencing major writer's block with my story "Sansa of Winterfell" and so I decided to just write a short story to see if I could get myself back in the mood. I'm not sure where this little story came from, but I hope at least one person enjoys it. It will be about 3 chapters, primarily focused on Sansa and Jon fixing their marriage in the American frontier in the early 1700s. </p><p>I don't know why I love the arranged marriage trope so much, but I do. I hope you can all forgive me! haha</p><p>*Note: I am not sure this story actually classifies as "Underage" but I went ahead and put the warning, because Sansa is quite young in this story, and was obviously married rather young, which was more normal for people in the period</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The American frontier… Sansa looked out across the gorge that bordered the land that now belonged to her and Jon Targaryen. They had not married for love… that much was true, but in her still very girlish heart she had hoped that affection might grow between them. But now… well, she did not imagine she would ever forgive him for this. The gorge was lovely and the forest around them full of life, but Sansa had never planned to be so far from England with only a veritable stranger for company. Looking over her shoulder, she could see him working in the fields. Jon Targaryen had woken one day and decided that they were to uproot and go to the Americas. She was no frontier’s woman, and yet he had been determined to go, and so, as his wife, she had been obliged to follow. He robbed her of every comfort and familiarity that had been afforded to her. They had not even been married a year when he suddenly voiced aspirations for going to the American continent. He dragged her here to the toil and hard work of the colonies, to birth their first babe without her mother… not that there were any babes yet, but as babes were the natural consequence and primary reason for marriage, she knew babes would come whether she wanted or not.</p><p>                She turned back to their cabin with a sigh. Jon had gone hunting this morning and left a large buck in front of the house. The house was still in progress and would likely be so for some time, and so they shared their one room dwelling in silence. Not only had he robbed her of England, but he did not even purchase a home in town so that they might live at least in relatively similar comfort as they had in England. Striding up to the carcass of the buck, Sansa took a large knife and stared at the dead creature. The first time Sansa had watched Jon do this but apparently, he now expected her to do it on her own. During their tenure here, she had been prevailed upon to slaughter a couple of chickens and a rabbit, but what was she supposed to do with a whole deer? She shot Jon Targaryen an angry glare, though she knew he could not see her… but she hoped he felt it. In England, they had had servants to attend housekeeping and cooking, and therefore Sansa knew little of such things. She knew how to cook to an extent but roasting a whole deer over an open flame was entirely a different matter. Before coming here, she had never cooked over an open flame.</p><p><em>“We’ll get a stove, I promise,”</em> Jon had said during their first burnt supper. He had said the same about servants, but until their house was finished, they had no place to lodge servants. Sansa, while she cared not that Jon thought her a delicate flower, would not be cowed by this beautiful wilderness. If he wanted her to butcher a deer, she would and he would not hear a peep from her. Sansa was nothing if not a woman of duty, and so she would spread her legs like a good wife, and give him children and work his land and clean his house and cook his meals, even if it made a martyr of her. Grimacing and trying not to retch, Sansa sliced into the belly of the dear. She imagined sometimes, that if she had married his brother Aegon, she would not be in the New World right now butchering a deer, waiting for her husband to get in from the fields… but Aegon was dead, so what did any of that matter anyway? She had barely known Aegon to begin with… their marriage had been an agreement between their two families, but Aegon had been charming, and quick to smile and laugh. Jon was taciturn, and he frowned more than anything. He was never unkind to her, and yet his brooding would undoubtedly drive her mad. In truth, Jon had married her to fulfill his family’s agreement with hers after his elder brother died, and he had married her to further the Targaryen family name, which now rested squarely upon his shoulders. She looked out at Jon in the fields once more. He had not touched her in that way since coming here… she thought it was because he knew she was angry with him, though he never said. They did not talk about their feelings.</p>
<hr/><p>                Supper was burnt… again… and Sansa could have cried. She did not like being a failure, and yet it seemed she failed more often than not here. Nothing here was familiar. She had been a rather accomplished young lady in England, with all the genteel graces that a young woman of her class should have. The Targaryens and the Starks were certainly not the wealthiest in England, their daughters were expected to know how to keep a home, and their second sons were expected to earn a living, but still they were landed and comfortable, with lives of relative ease. She had never imagined herself living in a cabin in the middle of the woods. The front door opened, and Sansa looked up to see Jon, looking utterly exhausted and dirty, and for a moment she felt a pang of guilt that she did not have a better supper to serve him.</p><p>“Supper is as ready as it is ever going to be,” Sansa told him softly. Perhaps she would have had a better supper to serve him if they had still been in England? She hardened her heart.</p><p>“Thank you,” He sighed as he looked at her, as if he might regret marrying her too. Perhaps they should not have? But the agreement between their two families after the death of Aegon still loomed between them, and so Jon had stepped into the gap and offered to wed her himself. Their wedding had a been a sweet and simple affair, for which Sansa had been glad. She had been marrying a near perfect stranger. She had only interacted with Jon once or twice during her betrothal to Aegon, and he had not been anymore charming then. Blushing to remember their strained wedding night, how naïve she had been… her mother had only told her to follow Jon’s lead and to do as he said, and all would be well. Needless to say, all had not been well.</p><p>“It’s burnt again,” She confessed, “I can’t seem to master the open flame.”</p><p>He bit into the meat and did not complain. He never complained, and for that she was thankful… at least she had not married a boar.</p><p>Jon poured her some coffee, while she finished filling her own plate. As she sat down, she was not sure she could eat the meat that she had butchered, but she made a valiant attempt.</p><p>“I’m going to town tomorrow; do you want to come?” He asked nonchalantly.</p><p>Sansa tried not to act too eager, “That would be agreeable.”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>She had not yet had the chance to fully explore the nearby town. She had wondered if they had a bookshop but doubted that she would ever again have enough daylight to read. The thought made her sad.</p>
<hr/><p>                They readied themselves for bed in silence, and Sansa lay down on her side facing the wall, away from him. The bed dipped beside her, as Jon laid down. He blew out the candle. He turned and she felt his hand stroke up and down her back. Restraining a sigh, she half expected him to ask her to have her. They had not been together as man and wife since they left England, but she knew he felt pressure to get her with child. A womb was all she had been to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Targaryen, the bearer of Targaryen sons, and even more so now that Aegon was dead, and Jon was the only one to further the family name. Therefore, even if Sansa birthed five daughters, she would still be expected to bear children until she bore Jon a son. Sansa at times hated being born female.</p><p><em>“Your mother had three sons,”</em> Mrs. Targaryen had told her once,<em> “There is no reason to expect that you would not have at least one or two.” </em></p><p>She supposed that was why they had brokered the marriage deal with her family, because she came from fine breeding stock. The cynical thought nearly made her roll her eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon said quietly from behind her.</p><p><em>Sorry?</em> Was he apologizing for bringing her here? She thought it rather late for that.</p><p>“About the deer, I had not meant for you to butcher it on your own,” Jon finished.</p><p>Sansa nodded, “I’m fine, it only takes some getting used to.”</p><p>“You have had a lot to get used to,” He replied sadly.</p><p>She did not think she could muster a cordial response to that, “So we both have,” She said simply.</p><p>For some reason, it made her sad that he stroked her back until she was lulled to sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>                The next morning, Sansa had dressed hastily and put a simple cold breakfast on the table, as she waited for Jon to come back from checking on the animals so that they could go to town. Rarely did she let herself feel excitement, but she could not contain herself. So desirous was she for society that the prospect of going to even one shop would have thrilled her. Jon strode through the door and laid his musket against the wall. He sighed as he looked at her.</p><p>“We’re not going to be able to go to town today after all,” said Jon as he came toward her.</p><p>Sansa felt her heart drop, “Oh?”</p><p>“Tormund dropped by and said there were some tribesmen in the woods, I don’t want to leave the house unattended, or be caught out on the road…”</p><p>“But our neighbors have been generally friendly,” Sansa said. She had to confess that she had been frightened of the local tribes when first they had come here, but the few she had met who lived on the other end of the gorge had been peaceful with them.</p><p>“Tormund did not recognize these men, they were from a different tribe,” Jon explained.</p><p>Sansa nodded again, feeling tears sting her eyes, “Will we go tomorrow then?”</p><p>Jon sighed deeply, “We will see.”</p><p>Her traitorous tears formed. She had longed to go to town and hunt out a bookshop. She felt silly for crying and so turned her back on Jon. Their cabin was still being built and so it was only one room. She had nowhere to hide from him.</p><p>His hand squeezed her shoulder, “What is it, sweet girl?”</p><p>Sweet girl… it was a funny little epithet that he called her sometimes. She did not know how she felt about the endearment, or how he had come to call her that.</p><p>“Nothing,” She squared her shoulders, and brushed away her tears.</p><p>“I’ve not seen you cry in a great while,” Jon said, “Perhaps since our wedding night.”</p><p>They both seemed to release mutual shudder.</p><p>“I am fine, Jon, do not fret yourself over me,” Sansa insisted, smoothing her hands down her front, “We both have chores to do.”</p><p>“I do fret myself over you,” He said, as he shifted her around to face him, “You are the most important person in my life.”</p><p>Sansa had to refrain from rolling her eyes. How could he say that when he barely knew her heart? When he dragged her to the Americas without any say? Had they not been getting along fine in the little cottage on his family’s land in England? Yes, his relations had been rather meddlesome, but whose relations weren’t?</p><p>Suddenly, Jon pulled her into his embrace, and held her. She did not know how to respond at first, and so her arms hung limply at her side. Could she hold him in return?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Vows, Debts, and Disappointments (Jon)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Still struggling with some writers block, but I hope everyone enjoys this little peek inside Jon's mind. I feel like a lot of this is exposition, for which I apologize, I've never written a short story before so I'm still learning how best to pace it. </p><p>Thanks for reading and for commenting!</p><p>*SofW will return soon</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From a distance, Jon Targaryen watched Sansa washing clothes and hanging them on the line, she was beautiful and so very strong and sweet. Sixteen she had been when they married a year and a half ago. Such an age for a bride was not unusual, still Jon had thought her rather young. Perhaps he should not have married her at all? But he had succumbed to the pressure put on him by his family to fulfill the agreement made to her family that would have originally bound her to Aegon. Jon was nothing if not a man of duty. Aegon had been the bright star of their family… a man of energy, charm, and ability. Jon had spent the better part of his life being compared to Aegon by his father. When Aegon had died so suddenly of the fever, Rhaegar Targaryen had only wished that Jon had died instead, and there were days where Jon had wished he had been the one to die as well. Being the second son, and also the product of his second marriage, Rhaegar had had little use for Jon. Jon often wondered why Rhaegar had married his mother at all.</p><p>“<em>The product of some indiscretion,”</em> his half-sister, Rhaenys, had once called him, “<em>the family shame</em>.”</p><p>Yet, he was a Targaryen still and as a child he could never understand why they all had treated him like an outsider. When Aegon had died and Rhaegar suddenly had use for him, Jon could not help but to feel some level of resentment.</p><p>Despite his father’s cruelty, Jon had loved Aegon and the two of them had been close as boys. For years, Jon and Aegon had dreamed of coming to the New World together, of living a life of adventure free from their parents. After Aegon’s death, when a solicitor, Petyr Baelish, had written to Jon making him aware of a tract of land purchased by Aegon in the New World, that he had not yet finished paying for, Jon, ever duty bound, determined to make remittance. Baelish had stated that Aegon had left Jon the beneficiary of the land, and therefore, Jon was responsible for ensuring it was paid in full. Jon had been eager to leave England behind, except for the fact that he would be uprooting Sansa from all she knew. He had, however, considered selling the land, as he had no desire to ruin Sansa’s life when their marriage was already so delicate. The cruelty of his own family toward her, however, had prompted him to act.</p><p><em>“If she cannot give you a child, she must be set aside,”</em> Rhaegar had said, <em>“We arranged this marriage for your brother so that it would bare fruit not end the family line.”</em></p><p>They had not even been married a year, but Rhaegar had decided that was long enough. In truth, Jon had only bedded Sansa a few times, for fear that he <em>would </em>get her with child. She was so young, and Jon did not want to put her life in jeopardy, just because his father was impatient. He had vowed to love her, and cherish her, and protect her… He was not sure he could say that he loved her yet, but he was fond of her and coming to care for her greatly, and he took his vows very seriously. He had not considered, however, that his efforts to protect her from his family, would so seriously wound her. She was miserable here, and it was his fault. Perhaps he should have returned her to her family? Maybe she would have been happier? Yet, he knew that would have ruined forever the possibility of her finding another suitable match. He would not shame her so, and so, doing what he thought was best for their little family, he had packed them up to the New World. He had made so many assumptions regarding Sansa’s feelings, that all proved to be untrue. He had imagined for one that Aegon had spoken with her about going to the Americas, as they had only been a few months away from their wedding when he died, and the contract for the land had already been signed. He thought perhaps he and Sansa might be able to have this adventure together, to grow here without the hindrances placed upon them by their families. His assumptions, as most assumptions turned out to be, were wrong. She had never once complained, or spoken against coming here, she had simply followed him, but everything had changed between them since they came, and Jon now knew his mistake. If she never forgave him, he supposed it would be warranted. He supposed he was always destined to be a disappointment to someone.</p><hr/><p>                Returning from the field that afternoon with a bunch of flowers in his hand, Jon was exhausted. He had seen the grove of flowers near their field and had thought Sansa might enjoy them for the table. She had always liked flowers in England. Opening the door to the cabin, he was surprised that Sansa was not there. Stepping back outside, he looked around toward their animal pens, and where she had been washing clothes… to their garden… She was nowhere to be seen. Alarm started to rise inside him.</p><p>“Sansa!” He called out to her, and grabbing his musket, and not entirely sure where he intended to look for her, he charged away from the cabin. Had she been kidnapped? Was she hurt somewhere in the woods? He felt pain in his chest to think that perhaps the likeliest cause was that she finally left him. He struck out through the forest, but he did not get far, when he heard her singing. Cresting a small hill, he peered down to see her standing in the running brook where they got their water, washing herself. He gulped. She was only in her thin shift, which, wet as it was now, left little to his imagination. She had never really let him savor looking at her, for which he did not blame her. They barely knew each other when they married, after all, and now, he could barely touch her without feeling the weight of guilt pressing upon his shoulders. But he had always known her to be lovely, and he longed to look at her, and touch her, and show her the affection that he felt toward her. The truth was, he wanted to build a family with her, wanted to love her, and make their marriage right, but he feared that in making this decision for them, instead of with her, that he had ruined forever any happiness that either of them could have found in each other. He knew he should turn away and give her privacy, but he lingered still, seeming rooted to the spot.</p><p>“Jon,” She called to him and quickly started to scrabble toward her clothes on the bank.</p><p>Jon turned his back, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you to your washing.”</p><p>He heard a bit of splashing like she was trying to get out of the brook. There was a little gasp, and so he turned around to see her on her hands and knees in the mud, looking rather volatile. Jon rushed down to her and reached out to help her up, but she jerked her hand away which only caused her to stumble again.</p><p>Sighing, she pulled away from his help, “I’m fine, Jon.”</p><p>“Let me help you up, the mud is thick there,” Jon tried.</p><p>“I am very much aware now that the mud is thick right here,” she snapped.</p><p>Even though she resisted, Jon took her hand and tried to haul her to her feet.</p><p>“I’m going to need a whole new bath,” She growled as he pulled her closer than he meant too. She started to slip, and he reached his arm around her waist, but it was too late. They both fell in a heap in the mud beside the brook. Sansa was basically in his lap and they stared at each other somewhat breathlessly.</p><p>“Looks like we both will,” Jon chuckled, as he reached up and brushed some hair out of her face with a muddy finger.</p><p>He thought he saw a hint of a smile flicker across her eyes.</p><p>Together, they managed to wade back into the brook, and they washed themselves off in silence.</p><p>“Jon,” came her soft voice.</p><p>Jon turned around to see her looking at him in the strangely shy, yet resilient way, that she had, “Yes?”</p><p>“Can you make sure all of the mud is out of my hair?” She asked, as she hesitantly turned her back to him once again.</p><p>Taking a breath, Jon stepped toward her and took her long, red locks in his hands. He thought he could not breathe as he ran his fingers through it to gently untangle any snarls and to ensure it shined and was free from mud. Her hair was so pretty… reddish, orange like a setting sun. Cupping some water in his hand, he washed some mud off her neck. He felt her shiver, and knew they needed to get in some dry clothes before the evening chill set in. He did not want her getting sick.</p><p>“Jon,” she said softly once more.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Do you need me to check your hair for mud?”</p><p>Jon stammered, “Um, yes…”</p><p>“Turn around,” she instructed.</p><p>Jon obeyed, and had to refrain from sighing in contentment as he felt her fingers gently scrape through his curls. When a soft groan escaped his lips, she gave his hair a tug… perhaps on purpose. He smiled to himself. She may not protest much in word, but she had a fiery side that he had seen small glimpses of since coming here.</p><p>                When they were finished, they gathered Sansa’s clothes, and Jon draped her shawl around her wet shoulders, and they trudged back up to the cabin to change from their wet clothes. The sun was already beginning to go down. Sansa walked over to the big chest that housed their clothes but seemed hesitant to disrobe entirely in front of him, and so he turned his back to her and began to make a fire in the hearth. Once he heard her sit, he stood and turned to face her and found her in her chair in her nightshift, teeth chattering as she glanced at him and then down at the fire. She was shivering, and so Jon retrieved a blanket and wrapped it around her. She did not protest. It was Jon’s turn to change, and as he disrobed, he felt Sansa glancing at him. Curious, he thought, she had never seemed very interested in his bare body. On their wedding night, she had even seemed somewhat afraid of it. They were different people now he supposed… older, even if it was just by a little, and lonely. She was lonely, he knew, and it was his fault. He had taken her from all that was familiar to her. When he was finished dressing, he stoked the fire once more.</p><p>“I’ll make us some tea,” said Sansa, but Jon stayed her.</p><p>“I’ll get it, rest,” He said, and stood and put some water in their pot and put it over the fire, “Are you hungry?”</p><p>“Not really,” She admitted.</p><p>Jon put a few of the biscuits she had made this morning on a plate with some jam. Her biscuits were always excellent. When the kettle was ready, he poured them some tea.</p><p>                They each took a cup of tea and a biscuit and sat together in front of the fire.</p><p>“You never say anything,” Sansa suddenly said, her voice somehow both soft and hard at the same time.</p><p>Jon looked at her, “About what?”</p><p>“Anything,” She whispered.</p><p>Though her voice was soft there was censure there, and Jon was not sure how to respond, “I’ve never been skilled at saying pleasing things,” Jon said.</p><p>She nodded, as if she had long accepted that as a truth, “Your words don’t always have to be pleasing.”</p><p>“What would you have me say?” Jon asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sansa huffed.</p><p>Jon had always been a quiet person, but since coming here he had been extra careful with his words, as he feared that he would only hurt her more. He had not been the best companion for her but the heavy weight of guilt and responsibility he felt for bringing her here without understanding the damage he was doing weighed heavy upon him. Did she want him to open his heart to her? Would she care at this point?</p><p>Reaching out Jon touched her knee, giving it a squeeze, “I’ll tell you anything.”</p><p>“What were you like as a boy?”</p><p>Chuckling, he had not expected such a question, “My father would tell you that I was not much different than I am now, quiet, sulking, and a…” <em>disappointment?</em> Could he confess that to her? “and stubborn,” Jon said instead.</p><p>“Were you, Aegon, and Rhaenys close?”</p><p>“Aegon and I were,” Jon replied looking down into his cup, the words still stung even after all this time. He had spent so much energy trying to help his family, take care of Sansa, and settle Aegon’s affairs after his death that Jon was not sure he had had time to grieve his brother properly, “Rhaenys was older and had little interest in mine and Aegon’s goings on.”</p><p>“My brother Robb is very dear to me,” Sansa admitted.</p><p>“Robb is a good man, I’ve written to him a few times,” Jon said.</p><p>“I know, he told me,” Sansa replied softly.</p><p>“Do you mind that he and I have exchanged letters?”</p><p>“I don’t mind.”</p><p>Jon took Sansa’s hand and stroked her knuckles with his thumb, praying that one day he might be able to make her happy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next Chapter: The Confrontation</p><p>*Note: I upped the chapter count by one because I think I needed a full chapter for the confrontation and a full chapter for reconciliation</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A House (Sansa)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So it seems I have a lot to learn about telling a short story. We did not quite make it to the confrontation this chapter as it just did not feel like the right time, so I upped the chapter count, so I suppose I will be done with this story whenever I'm done, hahaha</p><p>I hope everyone enjoys!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their nearest neighbor, Tormund, bred horses and had generously brought his prized stallion over to cover their mare. Sansa sat on the fence watching Tormund and Jon corral the temperamental stallion so as not to startle the nervous mare. She wished Tormund had a wife so that she might have someone to talk to, perhaps if she had a friend, she might be able to find some happiness here. Her nearest female neighbors were the tribeswomen whose language she did not speak, and whose customs were still very strange to her. She thought loneliness might be eating away at her soul, as Jon remained as quiet as ever. The other night he had spoken in his sleep, and she rolled her eyes to think that that was the most words she had ever heard him string together.</p><p>“Best now to let nature take its course,” bellowed Tormund as the two men strode toward Sansa, “And how do you far Mrs. Snow?”</p><p>“Quite well, thank you, Mr. Bane,” Sansa said with a pleasant smile. She liked Tormund in spite of the fact that he was a little unkempt and resembled a bear. She followed beside the two men back toward their cabin.</p><p>“I see the plans are coming along,” said Tormund, who had also helped Jon as they continued the construction of the rest of their cabin.</p><p>Sansa glanced at the drawings that Jon had laid out on their table the previous night that she had pretended not to notice. She turned toward the kettle, but Jon caught her hand.</p><p>“What do you think?” He asked, with somehow both sad and hopeful eyes. Obliging him, Sansa looked at the drawings. Right now, their cabin was still one room, but the vision Jon had for it was very lovely from what she could see in the drawings, even if she did not want to admit it.</p><p>“It’s pretty,” Sansa conceded, though she knew it was a weak answer. Having never considered that he cared what she thought she was not sure how to respond, but she appreciated the asking.</p><p>“There’s a sitting room for you, where we can keep books,” He said, and then his eyes turned somewhat shy, “And rooms for… for children…”</p><p>Looking at the exquisite drawings, she nodded. Sansa knew he wanted children, and children were expected of them to carry on the family name, but for children to come they would have to be together as man and wife. They had not been intimate since England, nigh on eight months ago now. She was not ready to resume that aspect of their marital life… not ready to open her heart to him again, especially after having determined to never forgive him… but sometimes, nights were cold and she was lonely and she knew he was lonely too.</p><p>“The militia will be mustering soon,” said Tormund in his thick Scottish drawl, as Jon started to build a fire in their hearth and Sansa began to prepare tea for them.</p><p>“Why? We had a muster not even a month gone by,” replied Jon with a frown.</p><p>“There’s been some trouble with the tribesmen,” Tormund said, “Can’t say I blame ‘em though, we be encroaching on their native land and all, as a Scot I can empathize.”</p><p>Sansa listened in silence as Jon and Tormund discussed the muster as she prepared them tea. The belligerent tribesmen sounded as if they were not from the region, but Sansa wondered if their neighbors felt ill will toward them. The thought made her sad, but like Tormund, she could not say that she blamed them if they did.</p><p>“Do you think the militia will be sent out?” asked Jon.</p><p>“Most likely, if the aggression continues,” Tormund said with a sigh.</p><p>Sansa was alarmed to hear that; she did not want to be left here alone if Jon got called away by the militia. Could she be alone here? Jon did so much for her… how would she survive if…. Sansa brushed those thoughts aside. There was no use fretting over things beyond her control.</p><hr/><p>                Later that night, after Tormund had left, Sansa readied herself for bed. Jon had gone out to check on their animals one last time. After cleaning up their cups and plates, she donned her nightgown, and tried to run her fingers through her tangled hair. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she reached for her hairbrush and saw a book sitting on her pillow… it was a new book that she had not seen before. Curious, she picked it up and turned it over in her hands. Had Jon gotten her a book? She frowned; she was surprised that he cared at all if she had books to read. Running her fingers over the pages, she set it back down on her pillow, wondering when he had had time to acquire a new book for her. Her fingers were itching to open it, but the light was bad, and she had terrible snarls in her hair from the wind today. The book would have to wait until the morning, and so she began to brush out her long locks. The door opened and Jon strode in, looking exhausted. He worked hard… they both did, but he seemed to have some grueling need to prove something in his work.</p><p>“Rain’s coming down harder,” Jon said casually, “Likely to be a good storm.”</p><p>Nodding, she continued to brush her hair as she watched him move about the cabin. He splashed some water from the basin on his face, even though it was freezing, and then stripped himself of his wet shirt, his suspenders hung at his hips.</p><p>When he came over to the bed, Sansa scooted to her side. He insisted on sleeping on the side of the bed closest to the door, which hedged her between the wall and him. She watched as he removed his shoes and breeches and put on some dry underwear. He often slept in very little, and she reckoned that the only reason he slept with clothes on at all was for her comfort. She continued to work at the knot in her hair, and she could feel his eyes on her, as he lay down on his back beside her.</p><p>“Oft times I wonder if I should simply hack it all off,” Sansa said irritably as she tried to get her brush through the knot once more.</p><p>Jon’s eyes went wide, and he sat up, “I love your hair,” He said softly, as he reached over and touched the end of a red strand.</p><p>“Its naught but a problem,” Sansa grumbled.</p><p>“Promise me you won’t cut it,” Jon pleaded.</p><p>“I’m not going to cut it, Jon, it wouldn’t be fitting for me to have hair like a man’s.”</p><p>He looked somewhat relieved.</p><p>“I just wish the wind would not tangle it so.”</p><p>“Here,” He held his hand out to her, “Let me.”</p><p>“Let you?” Sansa asked in alarm. Let him what?</p><p>“I can help you get the tangles out,” he said.</p><p>She frowned. He wanted to brush her hair? There was so much unsaid between them, that Sansa seemed to question everything. Looking into his eyes, as she so rarely did, she hesitated a moment more, before slowly handing him the brush. She turned her back to him to give him better access to her long locks of red hair. Gently, he began to work on the knot.</p><p>“I don’t want you to be afraid,” he said calmly.</p><p>“Afraid?”</p><p>“About what Tormund said, about the possibility of the militia being called up,” Jon replied.</p><p>“You’d have to go… wouldn’t you?” She asked, even though she knew it was the law.</p><p>“Aye, I’d have to go.”</p><p>She nodded, and even though she knew it was not his fault, she felt bitter that he would bring her here, only to leave her alone in this cabin.</p><p>“I wouldn’t go, Sansa, if I had a choice,” Jon said, “But it’s the law, and I can’t shirk my duty.”</p><p>Sansa nodded again, “We are people of duty.”</p><p>Jon sighed almost sadly, “Aye, we are.”</p><p>He continued to brush her hair, even after the tangle was gone, and Sansa did not stop him. The touch felt good, even if it was from the man that brought her here. They listened to the rain and the thunder, and the cabin grew chilly. He had set the brush aside, but she could still feel his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. Drawing her legs up, Sansa hugged her knees.</p><p>“There’s a new family moved in over the ridge,” Jon said casually, “Tormund told me.”</p><p>“A family?” Sansa asked hopefully.</p><p>“Yes, perhaps we might walk over and see them sometime.”</p><p>Sansa nodded and clutching her new book and putting it under her pillow, she laid down, shivering.</p><p>“Are you cold?” Jon asked.</p><p>She glanced briefly over her shoulder and nodded. His hand came to her arm, and he rubbed it as if to keep her warm, before laying down beside her and pulling the quilts up around them. She felt a tentative hand come to rest on her stomach, as he drew her close. He was like a furnace; he had always run hot.  </p><p>“Why did you never say anything against coming here?” Jon asked suddenly his voice quiet and sad.</p><p>Sansa felt anger shoot through her, but she did not want to have this conversation now, “You never asked, Jon.”</p><p>She felt him nod, and it seemed the conversation was over. His arms tightened around her, and she grew nervous, “Do you… are you…” She stumbled, unsure how to ask if he desired to take his husbandly rights. She would not refuse him… she was a woman of duty after all.</p><p>He kissed her hair, “Just sleep, Sansa.”</p><p>She nodded again, "Thank you... for the book..." </p><p>He kissed her hair once more, "Sleep." </p><p>She fell asleep in his arms. </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. To Fight? (Jon)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So firstly, I removed the chapter count because apparently, I am just going to write this story as I have inspiration and it will be done when it's done haha. I still did not make it to the confrontation, but we are making steps in that direction. I hope everyone enjoys this little thoughtful chapter, I love to hear from you! Your kind and thoughtful comments absolutely make my day. </p><p>Side Note: I am a historian by training, however, this region and time period are not my content specialty. I know next to nothing about Algonquin/American tribal culture or colonial culture. If there are mistakes, which there will be inevitably, please know that I do not make them out of disrespect.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking to the rising sun, Jon was warmer than usual. He blinked his eyes a couple of times, before looking down to find Sansa curled against him, her face nuzzled against his neck, as she clung to him in her sleep. He froze, not wanting to wake her. Her little hands were rested against his chest, and he could feel her breaths against him. They had not been this close in… well, Jon could not rightly remember how long it had been. He had been trying to accept the fact that she may never want to touch him again or want him to touch her. He had not realized until this moment how starved for touch he had been, and he dreaded the moment when she would wake up and pull away. Studying her face, he sighed softly. She was lovely, and he had taken for granted how clever she was, how smart. Moving slowly, he wrapped an arm around her, feeling somewhat like a thief as he held her. Inclining his head slightly, he inhaled the scent of her hair. He could scarcely believe that they will be married for two years now come springtime. She made a sweet little sound against his neck that made him smile. He thought perhaps that she would be pleased if he rose and prepared breakfast, but he wanted to hold her for just a little while longer. If she kept clinging to him the way that she did, he would not be able to let her go.</p><p>                Her breathing changed, and Jon knew the moment was ending and she was waking up. She nuzzled her nose against him again, but to his surprise she did not immediately pull away from him, she just lay there with her face pressed against his neck. Jon felt it in the chasm between them… she was lonely… just as he was… and it was his fault. Tentatively, he held her closer, but was embarrassed to know that she could probably feel his morning arousal against her belly. Though, she did not seem overly perturbed about it if she did feel it. They lay there in silence, as Jon held her. She had chastised him once, not so very long ago, about never saying things. Should he say something now? He had been a shy child growing up, and a sullen boy, and as he grew into manhood, words had become his enemies rather than his friends. He was certainly no orator… no poet. Would she be displeased with him if he could not say the kinds of beautiful things that Aegon most likely charmed her with during their brief courtship? Jon was not Aegon, and he spent most of his life being reminded of that fact.</p><p>Jon stroked her back, and then kissed the top of her head, “I was so scared when first I wed you…” He confessed. He may not have beautiful words like Aegon, but he could have genuine words. He had brought her a book, flowers, in tentative efforts to make steps in the right direction, but those were small, mostly meaningless gestures. HIs words were important, if he could figure out how to use them properly. </p><p>She sniffed and glanced up at him before returning her face to his neck.</p><p>“You were pretty, and refined, and thoughtful, and clever…” Jon continued, “I was afraid you’d always find me lacking…”</p><p>Her cheeks turned slightly pink… he thought perhaps it was because she did, in fact, find him lacking.</p><p>Jon searched for words… <em>Open your mouth</em>, his mind taunted, <em>or you will lose her forever</em>. His hand continued to stroke up and down her back, and since she seemed content beside him, he was propelled onward.</p><p>“The morning after our wedding, you brought me breakfast to our bed,” Jon said, smiling fondly at the recollection. Their wedding night had been a torrent of emotions, and fumbling, and failings. He had to hide a cringe to remember how she had seized up in pain when he had entered her. There had been tears on her cheeks, and Jon had hated himself the rest of the night… and yet, the next morning, she had retrieved breakfast for them and they had shared it shyly in their bed together.</p><p>“Your sweetness undoes me,” Jon whispered.</p><p>She said nothing, but glancing down, he saw that she was still awake.</p><p>“You were a breath of air when I was struggling to breathe,” He said, not sure his words were what she needed to hear, or if they mattered at all in this point. Since bringing her here, he was losing her… maybe not in body, but in spirit and heart. He knew it was his fault… but was it too late to fight for her?</p><p>“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me,” He said, it was a simple sentiment but no less true. He recalled their sweet and genuine efforts to be a married couple when they had lived in their little cottage on his father’s estate. How she had made it a home, when at first it had been little more than walls and rooms. He remembered the way that she had cared for him when he had gotten sick on the crossing… she had been angry with him, but still she cared for him. Jon had begun to realize that perhaps love was not some grand overture fading into a blazing crescendo, but a soft minuet that anchored people together through time. Love was somehow brave, and gentle, and strong… and it could endure… if it was fought for. He found that he wanted to fight for her.</p><p>Jon kissed the top of her head again and continued to stroke his hand up and down her side.</p><p>“We need to be about our day,” She finally spoke.</p><p>Jon sighed and nodded, “Stay with me… just for a few more moments.”</p><p>She nodded but did not say anything. A tentative hand touched his arm, and he smiled. She shifted away from his lower body, and he, abashedly, knew she could feel him.</p><p>“Do you need…?” She started.</p><p>“No,” He said, though his body said otherwise, “I just want to hold you.”</p><p>“But do you want…?” She could not seem to say the words.</p><p>Jon glanced down at her, confused, “Do you want it?” Would making love together complicate things, or draw them closer? Jon did not have answers for such things but wanted to take no chances. If he were to win her back, what was the first step?</p><p>“I’m your wife,” she said by way of response, and Jon was not sure how to interpret such a statement. His heart was screaming at him that if he was going to love her, he needed to be brave.</p><p>“I want you, Sansa, I’ll not lie to you, but I want every part of you,” Jon said in a huff as he touched her cheek.</p><p>She shivered, almost nervously, but there was a fire of irritation in her eyes, and Jon knew why. Was it hypocritical of him to claim love and care when he had dragged her to this place? He had been motivated by care but had not considered the ramifications of making this monumental decision without her. Jon had been raised by a father who commanded and expected obedience from both wife and children. Jon had always said he would be different from his father, but was he? She had been so young when they wed, that he had not respected her voice, he had only sought to shelter her from the cruelty of his family but had failed to shelter her from himself. She was not a child… she was a woman and his wife, and he had done wrong by her. When they had first wed, they barely knew each other, but she had been so open and sweet and willing to care. He thought perhaps if he had not made such a monumental mistake, she could have come to love him… just as he was coming to love her. Could he win her heart back? Or at least win back her willingness to try?</p><p>Pressing what felt like a rather pitying kiss to his neck, Sansa sat up abruptly and pulled her robe about her shoulders, before stoking the fire. Jon watched her for a few moments before rising himself.</p><hr/><p>                The tribe that lived west of their homestead, had been friendly to Jon and Sansa, mainly due to their friendship with Tormund. There were not as many tribes in these parts now as there had been in the past, Jon knew, and these kind and generous people were of Algonquin origin, though Jon was still learning that there were different tribes who spoke the Algonquin tongue, and not all were the same. He had many things to learn about this New World that they lived in, but Jon was drawn to these people, though their customs were strange to him. He and Sansa regularly visited their neighbors, as Jon would trade furs with them in exchange for lessons on how to grow and cultivate corn, and other plants of the New World. When they had first arrived, their neighbors had even brought them food. Only one of the men from the little village spoke English, his name was Ahanu, and so Jon had often done his business with him.<br/>“Your wife seems more content then last time you brought her here,” Ahanu said, glancing in the direction of the women, before returning to examining the furs Jon had brought.</p><p>“Yes,” Jon looked over at Sansa. Sansa was sitting on the ground, beside a fire and a few women. She had a baby in her arms, and a little girl was braiding beads and feathers into her hair. Sansa was smiling, and no doubt feeling lost, as none of the women spoke English, or at least none that Jon had interacted with, but Sansa seemed to be enjoying herself, nonetheless. Jon watched as one of the women indicated the baby in Sansa’s arms, and then pointed to Sansa’s stomach. When the obvious question registered on Sansa’s face, her eyes fell, and she shook her head. Was she sad that they had no children yet? Jon turned his attention back to his friend.</p><p>“I have had word that trouble is coming,” Ahanu said, “Tormund said that your leaders are calling for the militia.”</p><p>“Yes, it’s possible,” Jon said, “They will require us to fight.”</p><p>Ahanu nodded thoughtfully.</p><p>“I worry about leaving Sansa alone,” Jon glanced back at Sansa.</p><p>“Our season here is almost over, but we will watch over her as we can,” said Ahanu.</p><p>“Thank you, my friend,” said Jon, “I wish there did not have to be so much violence between our peoples.”</p><p>Ahanu nodded again, and Jon felt woefully ignorant. He knew nothing of the lives of these people, who had been forced out of more and more of their land. Jon felt a keen sense that he himself was not innocent in this, and so he sought peace and friendship with them where he could.</p><p>“We have new neighbors over the ridge,” said Ahanu.</p><p>“Yes, I have not met them yet,” Jon replied, “Have you?”</p><p>Ahanu chuckled, “Yes, though I fear for them.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“The man is…” Ahanu grinned, and made a gesture to indicate a large girth, “How do you say?”</p><p>Jon chuckled, “Portly?”</p><p>“Portly,” Ahanu repeated, “And he knows nothing of planting, only books.”</p><p>“He will have to learn then.”</p><p>“Everyone has to learn or die,” said Ahanu.</p><p>It was grim but it was reality, Jon knew.</p><p>“Is it just the man? Or does he have family?”</p><p>“There is a wife and a child, and the wife seemed to be carrying another,” said Ahanu.</p><p>“I will have to take Sansa over and greet them, and to see if I can offer them any help.”</p><p>“With winter coming, we will all need help.”</p><p>“Will your wife be giving you children soon?” asked Ahanu.</p><p>Jon looked back over at Sansa who was still clinging to the beautiful little baby in her arms.</p><p>“Not soon,” Jon said.</p><p>“Children are a blessing.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Jon agreed, his heart aching as he looked back at Sansa, “Do you know the names of our new neighbors?”</p><p>“Tarly, I think, the father’s name was,” said Ahanu as he finished appraising the furs.</p><p>“Tarly,” Jon committed the name to memory.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Undesired (Sansa)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In this chapter, we get the first rumblings of confrontation. I hope everyone enjoys.</p><p>Note: As a woman in this period, Sansa would have had very few options available to her to deal with her present circumstances. I tried to keep her reactions, and the societal expectations of her, in line with what would have likely been the norm in this period, while also giving Jon the revelation, that though it may have been the norm, it does not make what he did right.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa sat in the cool grass watching the sunrise over the hills and trees. This place was so beautiful sometimes, it took her breath away. She had not wanted to admit it when they first came here, but it was beautiful… like a painting from the very fingers of God. She had enjoyed her visit with the tribeswomen while Jon did his business with Ahanu. She had been handed a sweet baby, and a little girl had played with her hair. The little children seemed fascinated by the color of her hair, which always made her smile each time they visited their neighbors. When she and Jon first wed, she had imagined that she would have had a child by now. She had always wanted children but had never considered the complexities and mechanics of being intimate with her husband, nor had she imagined living in the wilds of the New World. She wondered if she could be happy here… she had grown accustomed to the place, fond of its people and the wild landscapes. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Jon working with one of their mares. Could she grow fond of him again? She sighed… she did not know the answer to that question. Had she been fond of him before? Sansa looked back down at the letter in her hand. It was from Robb. He and Jon had been exchanging letters, that she knew. Robb had always been interested in the New World. He had always struggled with the idea that he would be in one place for the rest of his life. He used to talk about seeing the world. Robb was wed now, to one of Sansa’s friends, Jeyne Westerling. They had married a year ago, and Jeyne had just learned that she was with child.</p><p>                She looked back over at Jon, wondering why he had made no effort to get her with child. She knew to the Targaryen’s she was nothing more than a womb to bare the next Targaryen son. Jon’s father barely acknowledged her, his mother only spoke to her of babies, and his sister was often unkind. She was not overly sad to be away from them, but she was sad to be so far from her family. Jon was kind to her, but since coming here, she had often second guessed his motives. Was he only kind in effort to placate her? Things between them had been different in England, simpler… but she was not sure they had been any more healthy. She knew Jon would never have married her if it had not been for her family’s prior arrangement with his brother. When he had first agreed to the match, he had often looked at her as if she were a child, to young to be his bride. She had been but sixteen… perhaps she was a child? There was no use pining and fretting over what she could not change and so she stood from the dewy grass, tucked her letter in her pocket, and returned to the cabin.</p><p>                Glancing at the drawings on the table of Jon’s vision for their house, Sansa sighed. He cared about what she thought about the house and she did not know how she felt about that. Anger was making her tired, but anger was easier than trusting him again. She ran her fingers along the drawings where the children’s rooms would be. The house was truly beautiful and spoke of thoughtful dreams of happiness and home. Jon spent so much time on these drawings, she remembers watching as he scribbled away ideas into his little book, when he started making up the actual plans, he would ask her what she thought or if she had one preference or another. It was perhaps the most he had ever spoken to her. She rarely made committal responses, but he did not push. He never pushed her, and she knew it was because he knew she was upset with him. Until he had asked her the other night about why she had never said anything about coming here, she had not been sure if he knew why she had been upset. He had never asked her how she felt about coming here, and as his wife, society expected her to obey anyway and she was nothing if not a woman of duty. Even her parents had told her that it was her duty to follow him, and so she had not complained. Perhaps she should have? Footsteps on the wooden floor, drew her attention and she looked over her shoulder at Jon. He sighed. He sighed often. Then he gave her a soft smile that vanished quickly.</p><p>A few mornings ago, he had held her and stroked her back, while he said sweet nothings to her. His words were gentle, as he often was with her. Sansa was not sure what to make of him sometimes. If he wanted her, she would not deny him… she was his wife after all…</p><p><em>“Do as Jon says,”</em> her mother had told her after her wedding to Jon before they were sent off to consummate their marriage, <em>“He will lead you.” </em></p><p>No one had told her that Jon would have to enter her body, or that Jon would have almost as little as experience as she did. He had been gentle, but both of them had been rather naïve. It had hurt and she had cried, and he had felt guilty for the rest of the night. She had taken him breakfast in bed the next morning, in an effort to tell him, that she was alright, that he had not wounded her forever. It had taken quite some time before they tried again, and even then, Jon had only bedded her a few times since they wed. She wondered if he found her undesirable. She knew he wanted children, but he seemed reluctant to engage in the activity that would give him children. Part of her was glad, that he had seemed uninterested, as her heart was still hurting and to be intimate with him, meant she had to be vulnerable.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” he asked suddenly.</p><p>Startled, Sansa blushed. Why he was so suddenly interested in her thoughts, she could not fathom.</p><p>“I was looking at the drawings of the house,” Sansa replied evasively.</p><p>“Any ideas, or things you’d want to change?” He asked.</p><p>Sansa shook her head, “It’s a lovely house.”</p><p>That little half smile of his twitched at the corner of his mouth again.</p><p>“I’ve heard from Robb,” she said.</p><p>“Oh?” Jon poured them each a cup of tea from the pot she had made earlier before going out to read her letter.</p><p>“He and Jeyne are expecting.”</p><p>They looked at each other, and Sansa hated that she blushed.</p><p>“He wrote to me about life here,” Jon said, “He wants to come here.”</p><p>Sansa nodded.</p><p>“If he is truly serious… I thought perhaps we might give them some land,” Jon said.</p><p>Sansa looked over at him, not sure what to make of this statement.</p><p>“There’s some good farmland on our eastern border,” Jon continued, “We could give it to them, if they truly desire to come, that way they could be near us…”</p><p>“You’d want to give away your land?” Sansa asked pointedly.</p><p>“Only if you’re alright by it, it’s our land,” Jon replied, “It could be nice to have family… to have a brother again…”</p><p>Sansa studied him for a moment and nodded. At Aegon’s funeral, Jon had not shed one tear, he had stood there silently, staring straight ahead. Often, she had wondered if he had ever truly grieved… he so rarely spoke of Aegon. He spoke of Robb with fondness, however, like a man who truly missed his brother. Guilt had eaten away at Sansa for months after Aegon’s death, as she had not been broken hearted as so many expected her to be. She was sad, yes, but she had not known Aegon long or well, though she had been fond of him, and her grief was that of friend and not of a lover. As she often considered, however, Aegon would never have brought her here. He was too comfortable in England and likely would not have been able to weather the hard work and toil that came with life in this strange place. Jon was much sturdier than Aegon, and she had once thought more reliable.</p><p>“Ahanu told me that our new neighbors are a family, complete with wife and children,” Jon grinned at her, no doubt trying to coax a smile from her… he was not very good at it.</p><p>“Will we go see them?” Sansa asked, trying not to sound too eager.</p><p>“Would you like too?”</p><p>Sansa looked at him, “Yes.”</p><p>“Then we will.”</p><p>Sansa nodded. He surprised her by coming to her side, putting a hand to the small of her back, and kissing her cheek. She closed her eyes for a moment and pretended that they were in love and that everything was perfect and beautiful. When she had been a little girl, she had thought marriage was such a pretty thing, such a simple thing… the stuff of songs and stories. She had been so terribly wrong, and yet, she still longed for love… even in her anger… was love a true thing still?</p><p>“I’ll be back in before supper,” He whispered in her ear, and she nodded. Jon was not one to shirk work… he worked so terribly hard, and though she tried very hard not too care, she worried about him sometimes…</p><p>He pressed another gentle kiss to her cheek before disappearing to the fields.</p><hr/><p>                The Tarly’s seemed to be kind folk, people worthy of friendship. From what Sansa could glean, they had come from simple means, and were by no means as comfortable as Jon and Sansa had been fortunate to be. From what Sansa could piece together, Sam had been disinherited by his overbearing father and so the little family had come to the New World to find their way. Jon spent ample time talking to Sam about farming and hunting, while Sansa sat with Gilly, who was surprisingly resourceful. Sansa did not imagine anyone from England would know the first thing about living in the wilds, but apparently Sansa was more sheltered than she realized, because Gilly knew all sorts of things about cooking and skinning animals and farming. She had grown up in a poor farming community in the north of England… and surprisingly, she was Irish, which was a point of contention with Sam’s prejudice father. They had a little boy, named Little Sam, and Gilly was obviously heavily pregnant with their second. Sansa could not imagine the crossing on a ship while being with child… though Sansa knew very little about what it was like to be with child.</p><p>“You came across while with child?” Sansa asked for clarity, “Could you not have waited until after the babe was born?”</p><p>“We were ready to come,” said Gilly, as they knitted together, “England had not been so very kind to us, what with Sam being who he was, and me being Irish, we were not accepted by most folk, and had even been rejected by some, like Sam’s father, and even some of our friends.”</p><p>Sansa could not fathom being so hated for one’s nationality and religion. They were all British subjects, were they not? Perhaps, she was more naïve than she even realized. Gilly being Irish and Catholic did not sit well with their English neighbors in England, and so Sam and Gilly had uprooted to find a place that might be kinder to them… Sansa hoped that this New World could be kind to them in the way that they hoped.</p><p>“I am happy to know that you live so close,” said Gilly, “I had half expected to be the only woman for miles and miles.”</p><p>“We are very nearly,” Sansa replied, “Except for the tribeswomen who live down the ridge.”</p><p>“Are they very fearsome?” Gilly asked with more exuberant curiosity than fear.</p><p>“No, they are a peaceful and generous people,” Sansa clicked her knitting needles together, “Though there are tribes that are quite fearsome, we grow concerned that the governor is going to call up the militia…”</p><p>“That would certainly be difficult to bear, especially with Winter about to set in,” said Gilly.</p><p>“Indeed,” Sansa continued, and glanced over at Gilly’s knitting, “What are you making?”</p><p>“A new blanket for the babe.”</p><p>Sansa smiled, and frowned at her own knitting. She had started a scarf for Jon, as she had noted a few days ago that his thickest scarf had a hole in it, but she was still not entirely sure she would complete it. Perhaps his neck deserved to be cold?</p><p>“Do you and Jon have any little ones?” Gilly asked.</p><p>Sansa’s face flushed, “No.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”</p><p>“No, its alright,” Sansa replied, it was, after all, a perfectly normal question for women to ask each other.</p><p>“The two of you seem well suited,” Gilly said with a smile.</p><p>Sansa hid a frown. She wondered if she would ever know if her and Jon were truly well suited… everything was different now than it had been in England… they were different in many ways.  </p><hr/><p>                The next morning Sansa rummaged about the cabin looking for parchment. She wanted to write to Robb and give the letter to Tormund tomorrow when he stopped by on his way to town as he always did. It seemed she was low on her supply. Frowning, she opened one of their trunks and pulled out a few items. They had to have some, somewhere. Jon used parchment as often as she, and so she did not imagine he would let them run out. In the trunk, she stumbled upon unopened letters from Rhaegar, she was surprised to see more than one. Letters were not the easiest to send and receive in these parts. Why had Jon not read the letters from his father? Rhaegar was a bully of a man, of that Sansa knew, but she was not sure of where Jon stood with his father. She knew that they were not as close as Aegon and Rhaegar had been. Was Jon fleeing his father? Setting the letters aside, she rummaged some more in the trunk… perhaps she would need to commission Tormund to bring her some parchment tomorrow rather than sending him on with her letter. To her surprise, toward the bottom of the trunk there were drawings, beautiful drawings, of landscapes, and horses, and their little cottage on the Targaryen estate… she pulled one out that did not look quite done and saw that it was the beginnings of a portrait… a portrait of her. She did not know Jon could draw like this… she knew they still had much to learn of one another… but coming here had put all of that sweet nonsense to a halt, reminding her harshly of her place in the world. At the bottom of the trunk, she pulled out some papers, and discovered the deed to their land. She glanced over the document, and to her surprise she saw it was Aegon’s name, not Jon’s listed on the deed… Jon was listed as the beneficiary upon Aegon’s death. Aegon had planned to come to the New World too? Sansa grew angry, were all the Targaryen men bent on lying to her and carrying her to the ends of the earth without her say?</p><p>                The front door opened, and Jon strode in, likely for a breakfast that was not yet finished. Sansa dropped the papers into the trunk and glared up at him.</p><p>“This land was Aegon’s?” She spat out.</p><p>“Apparently,” said Jon with a heavy and sad sigh, “It seems he signed the deed for it, not long after the two of you were engaged…”</p><p>“He never said,” Sansa growled, suddenly hating them both.</p><p>“No, he didn’t,” Jon replied.</p><p>“You didn’t know either?”</p><p>“Not until the solicitor contacted me for the remainder of the payment.”</p><p>“Is that why we came here?” Sansa stood from the ground.</p><p>“Partly…” Jon said, “I had considered selling…”</p><p>“But you didn’t?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Yes, Jon, why?” Sansa demanded to know her voice escalating, “Why did we come here? Why didn’t you sell this place?”</p><p>He looked like a startled animal caught in a trap, “To get away from my father.”</p><p>“We left England to get away from your father?” Sansa rounded on him, “So we came to the other side of the world, so that you could run away from home?”</p><p>“I’m not running away from home!” Jon snapped irritably.</p><p>Sansa turned her back toward him, and tried to calm herself, “Why didn’t you tell me the land was Aegon’s?”</p><p>“I had thought to when we came, but then I saw how angry you were with me for bringing you here… and…” Jon hesitated, “…and… I didn’t want to taint your memory of him.”</p><p>“Taint my memory?” Sansa snarled.</p><p>“You deserved to have good memories of the man you cared for,” Jon said with a deep sigh of resignation.</p><p>Sansa said nothing to that, only kept her back to him. She felt a hand on her shoulder, but she refused to look at him.</p><p>“I know it’s too little too late, and I have long come to accept that you may never forgive me,” He whispered, “But I am sorry…”</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>“For all of it…” Jon said.</p><p>“After all these months, and now you apologize?” Sansa pulled her shoulder away from his gentle touch.</p><p>“All I ever could have said, always sounded like pitiful excuses for the wrongs I have done you,” Jon’s voice was earnest, and Sansa’s heart ached.</p><p>“Why did we come here, Jon?” She demanded, keeping her voice low in an effort not to cry.</p><p>“Does it matter now?” Jon’s footsteps stalked across the room, “All I have to offer are excuses that will not make anything right.”</p><p>“No, they won’t,” Sansa said harshly, “But still… I’d like to know…”</p><p>Jon sighed, and paced the room, “I wanted… I needed… I needed to get you away from my family.”</p><p>“Your family?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“They were unkind to you.”</p><p>“You are going to pretend that you did this simply because your family was unkind to me?” Sansa nearly shouted as she whirled around to glare at him.</p><p>“They wanted me to set you aside, Sansa!” Jon finally released in an angry exclamation.</p><p>Sansa dropped down on the bed, “Set me aside?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t do that to you, Sansa,” Jon came and knelt in front of her, “I thought maybe if we got away from them, away from it all that we might be able to find some measure of happiness…”</p><p>Sansa looked at the ground.</p><p>“But I was wrong, wrong to do this to you, wrong to make this decision for you,” Jon said more softly, “Then I was ashamed, that I had become my father’s son after all.”</p><p>Sansa did look at him then but only for a moment.</p><p>They were quiet for a long while, with Jon on his knees in front of her. Would Rhaegar have forced Jon to set her aside? She would have been ruined… tainted forever. Still angry, she did not know how to feel or what to think. If he had set her aside, she could have returned to her family but been denied everything she had ever desired in life… a home, and children, and… love. No other man would have wanted her if Jon had set her aside.</p><p>“We can do anything you want, Sans,” he said sadly, “If you want to go home, I’ll not force you to stay here… or we can sell the place, and both go back to the cottage and our life in my family’s estate, my father be damned… I’ll do whatever you want…”</p><p>He took her hand, but Sansa pulled them away.</p><p>“I need time, Jon…” She whispered and stood.</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>She needed to get out of this tiny house and get some air, needed to get away from him for a few moments to think.</p><p>“I am going for walk…” She said in a daze.</p><p>“It’s misty out…” Jon followed her to the door.</p><p>“I need time…” She repeated, “I need to go…”</p><p>She stumbled blindly out the front door, and he followed behind her.</p><p>“Leave me alone,” she hissed, “I just need time!”</p><p>He watched her stalk off toward the wood.</p><p>“Are you coming back?” He asked almost helplessly.</p><p>“I have not yet decided…” Sansa shouted at him.</p><p>His face fell, but he nodded.</p><p>Sansa stuck out into the woods alone.</p><hr/><p>                She had often walked these beautiful paths, among the trees that had changed to beautiful colors over the last couple of months, but they were all nearly dead now as winter was upon them. A mist was settling in as well, but Sansa did not care. She wanted to hate him… but she did not. She was not prone to hate… <em>We can fix, what is broken, there is no need to throw it away</em>, her father had told her once about her favorite doll as a child, when she had broken its leg. She had been in tears. Her marriage though was not a broken doll… and her father was not here to fix anything. Sansa walked and walked and walked, headless of her surroundings and the settling mist.</p><p>                She had been walking for hours, as tears pricked her eyes. Jon would let her go home to her family if she wished, or they would pack up and move back to the cottage. She remembered the unopened letters from Rhaegar and wondered if she would be resigning him to equal misery, as he had done to her, if she demanded they go back to their little cottage in England. She was not miserable here anymore, as much as she did not want to admit… but still, she resented him for this, for making decisions that where theirs to make… not merely his… could their marriage return from such sorry state? She did not know, and she was tired… tired of being angry, but too hurt not to be… but mostly, she was tired of walking.</p><p>Looking up, Sansa realized with a frightened jolt that she had no idea where she was… these trees were not familiar, nor the rocks… and the thick fog that had grown around her confused her usually keen sense of direction.</p><p>“Sansa, what have you done?” she demanded from herself.</p><p>She had been walking for hours, paying no heed to where she was going. Trying to quell a rising panic, she turned around and started back the way she came… she had not made so very many twists and turns, had she? She could just walk back… couldn’t she?</p><p>Swallowing hard, she walked and grew increasingly frightened with each step. Frightened and frustrated tears burned her eyes, she had no business being out here all alone. She was being a foolish little girl. Another step, and Sansa felt something shift beneath her feet… another step, and she heard a crack. A startled scream left her mouth as she lost her footing, and fell… and fell, scraping herself on rocks and branches, as she tumbled into what seemed to be a steep ravine. She landed with a thud on the ground at the bottom, and more tears of frustration fell down her cheeks. When her breath returned to her, she looked up into the mist above her and then tried to stand only to fall down again with a screech of pain. Something was wrong with her ankle.</p><p>“Help!” She cried out, even though she knew it was useless… there was no one for miles. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at her ankle to see it purple and swollen. Sansa hated herself for crying… but cry she did. No one knew where she was… Jon did not know where she was, and she had even told him that she was not sure if she were coming back.</p><p>“Help!” She cried pitifully, looking once more at the top of the ravine. Then it started to rain and Sansa was cold.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*** I promise to try to give SofW some love this weekend if real life does not get in the way, as I am devoted to finishing that work, I just got a little stuck and was trying to get unstuck***</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Eaten by Wolves (Sansa)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so sorry I left poor Sansa in that ravine for so long, but here is the next little bit, it picks up just a little while after the last chapter left off. I hope everyone enjoys! </p><p>Sansa and Jon still have quite a lot to work through!</p><p>Thank you all so much for reading and for your lovely comments!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the rain continued to fall, Sansa tried to get beneath the rocky outcropping in the ravine she had fallen into so that she was partially covered, but it did not do much good. The rain kept coming down soaking her through anyway. Every so often she cried out for help, but she was far from civilization and truly had no idea where she was. Maybe Jon would come looking for her? Or maybe he took her at her word and believed she was not coming back? Sansa sighed; she knew better then to storm off in such dense fog. If she was going to leave, she should have made a plan. Sansa thought of Jon’s soft eyes… before they came here, she had been growing fond of him… even his shy and brooding ways. In England, he would often bring her flowers for their table and always complemented her cooking even though their maid had done the bulk…</p><p>“Help!” Sansa cried out.</p><p>She remembered when she had first met Jon, when they had first announced her very practical engagement to Aegon. She had thought him taciturn and cold, where Aegon was warm and charming… that was until the first time she saw him smile. Jon had also defended her when their catty sister, Rhaenys had belittled her… Aegon had said nothing. The Targaryen Manor had always been a cold and cruel place to her, but her and Jon’s little cottage had become a haven. Rhaegar had wanted Sansa and Aegon to live in the Manor with the family and had offered the same arrangement to her and Jon. Jon had refused. She had been so relieved that Jon had wanted their own home, despite it being a step down from the comforts they were used too.</p><p>“Help!” She shouted again. Mad as she was at Jon right now, she knew she would be relieved if his face appeared over the edge of the ravine. She imagined if this went on much longer, she would probably freeze to death and be eaten by wolves. Sansa sighed, how had her life gone so awry? Jon…</p><p>                She recalled the last rude comment from Rhaenys, saying that Sansa was a useless wife and that they would probably starve in the New World. While neither she nor Jon had starved, she imagined Rhaenys would be rather smug to know that Sansa had frozen to death and been eaten by wolves. She tried to stand again… She would not give Rhaenys the satisfaction…</p><p>“Help!” Her sopping went dress did nothing in helping her stand.</p><p>“Sansa?”</p><p>A flood of relief spilled over her… Tormund.</p><p>“Tormund!” she screamed, “Tormund!”</p><p>The burly red head appeared at the top of the ravine, with his coat over his head, “What in devil are you doing down there?” he asked with a guffaw.</p><p>Sansa sighed, “I fell, and I think I’ve twisted my ankle.”</p><p>“Well, just you sit tight, Mrs. Targaryen, I’m coming down straight way to get ye.”</p><p>Sansa was so relieved she could cry. Tormund trudged down into the ravine and came to stand in front of her.</p><p>“Which foot be it?” He asked.</p><p>Sansa pointed to her left.</p><p>Tormund felt the bone, and Sansa felt some pain, but nothing like she was expecting, “I think the bone is sound,” he said.</p><p>That was a relief.</p><p>“But there is no sense in you walking right now and aggravating it,” Tormund said, “Put your arm around my neck and I’ll carry ye up, and we’ll get you out of this wet, cold.”</p><p>Sansa did as she was told and put her arm around the big man’s neck and allowed him to lift her from the ground.</p><p>“Is Jon with you?” she asked, not that she really cared if he was or not, but she wanted to prepare herself if he was.</p><p>“No, we are pretty close to my cabin,” Tormund explain, “I’m curious to know how you got so far over here in this fog.”</p><p>“I just went walking,” Sansa said softly, still feeling slightly foolish.</p><p>“Well, I’ll take ye home as soon as the storm clears.”</p><p>Sansa nodded, though she did not want to go home yet. She was not ready to see Jon or have the scores of other fights they needed to have to fix this… if it even could be fixed. He said he would let her go back to England… but if she went home to her family, she would be ruined forever. She was not sure that she even wanted to go home… she was not sure what she wanted. In truth, her most treasured dream was to have her own home, a husband that loved her, and children of her own… but those dreams seemed somewhat out of reach at the moment, as she was still quite angry at Jon and not ready to forgive or make amends.</p><p>“Does Jon know you are out in this?” Tormund asked.</p><p>Sansa glared at him, “Considering we live in a one room cabin, he most certainly does.”</p><p>Tormund laughed, “You have a sharp tongue on you.”</p><p>“I’m sorry…” Sansa started to apologize.</p><p>“No need, no need, we’re basically kin, you and I,” Tormund chuckled, “What with our fire kissed hair and all.”</p><p>Sansa smiled, “I truly don’t mean to be impertinent…”</p><p>“The best kind of women are impertinent,” Tormund grinned.</p><p>“I don’t suppose all men think that way,” She sighed, thinking of Rhaegar, and Aegon, and even her own father at times. Much like everything else with her husband, she did not know how Jon felt about her swift and sometimes sharp tongue.</p><p>“No, I reckon not, but they don’t know what they are missing.”</p><p>Sansa had to laugh at that, even as she shivered in the big man’s arms.</p><p>                True to his word, they were not so very far from his cabin, and he ushered her in and set her down on a chair. He offered her a blanket, while he stoked the fire. Tormund’s cabin was a little bigger than theirs, though of course he had been here in the New World much longer. He had two bedrooms, a kitchen and sitting room. Sansa found it quite homey if not a little in disarray. Jon had grand plans to expand their cabin, and all his ideas were so beautiful and well thought through, but Sansa bristled every time he spoke of them, not wanting to admit that she liked them. Perhaps she was stubborn, but Jon was equally so… and thus, they had reached this impasse. Tormund handed her a cup of tea.</p><p>“I’ll see if I can rustle you up some dry clothing.”</p><p>“Thank you, Tormund,” Sansa said, “I had grown afraid that I would freeze to death and be eaten by wolves in that ravine.”</p><p>Tormund laughed, “I don’t reckon the world has seen the last of ye yet, Mrs. Targaryen.”</p><p>Sansa smiled and sipped her tea while he disappeared into another room. He returned with a dress, and a petticoat.</p><p>“Thank you,” Sansa took them from his hand, “Where did you get these?”</p><p>“I was wed once,” Tormund explained as he sat down in the chair across from her, “My wife though was a much brawnier lass than you though, so the dress may swallow you whole, but I figured it might do, while we put your clothes in front of the fire.”</p><p>Sansa smiled gently and nodded, “What happened to her?”</p><p>“She caught a fever some ten years gone by now, and left me here alone,” said Tormund.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s been a long time now, still miss her at times, but tis life.”</p><p>Sansa nodded.</p><p>“So, what took you so far from home in such weather as this?”</p><p>Sansa took another sip of her tea, and looked at the ground, “Jon and I had a fight.”</p><p>“Ah…”</p><p>“Then I stupidly ran off in the fog,” Sansa confessed.</p><p>Tormund shrugged, “We’re all human in the thick of things.”</p><p>“I told him I was not sure if I was coming back and so he probably is not even looking for me,” Sansa huffed, still angry with herself for being reckless… if she had intended to leave, she should have had a plan.</p><p>“If I know Jon, he’s out in this downpour looking for ye, and he will probably come find us before I have a chance to take ye home,” Tormund chuckled, as he took a sip of his own tea.</p><p>“Home…” Sansa sighed.</p><p>“What were the two of you fussing about anyways? You seem contented together most days, if not a wee quiet.”</p><p>“The fight was long in coming, I’m afraid,” Sansa confessed, “He and I saw coming here quite differently, and he did not ask my opinion on coming here, nor did I voice it.”</p><p>Tormund rubbed his beard and nodded.</p><p>Sansa looked down into her cup, “He should have asked me…”</p><p>Tormund nodded thoughtfully.</p><p>“But then everyone told me, even my mother, that it was my duty as his wife to follow him, and so I followed him, and never said a word,” Sansa explained.</p><p>“But ye were angry?”</p><p>“Aye,” Sansa said, “Very.”</p><p>“After all this time of being here, and the two of you are just now having it out?” Tormund asked with a frown.</p><p>Sansa nodded.</p><p>Tormund chuckled, “The two of you been having a freeze out for nigh on a year?”</p><p>Sansa nodded again, “He and I… we were… well, we were nearly strangers when we wed…”</p><p>Tormund studied her.</p><p>“I was originally engaged to his brother Aegon, who died, and so Jon took his place in their family’s arrangement with mine,” Sansa explained, “Though in truth, I had come to like Jon better than Aegon, until he forced me to come here…”</p><p>“But not anymore?” Tormund asked.</p><p>“Jon is a better man than Aegon,” Sansa admitted, “A harder worker, kinder… but he has his own set of flaws…”</p><p>“Just as we all do…”</p><p>“Aye, just as I do,” Sansa confessed, “I reckon our marriage was a mistake, but it’s done now, and we cannot be rid of each other without consequence… and besides, I’m not…”</p><p>Tormund did not interrupt, and it made her bold.</p><p>“I’m not sure I want to be rid of him,” She said, “But I don’t want to forgive him either, and I don’t suppose I rightly know exactly what I want.”</p><p>Tormund nodded thoughtfully, and smiled at her, “Best be getting out of them wet clothes now, you can use the second room.”</p><p>Sansa agreed, as her teeth chattered, “Thank you.”</p><p>Sansa went to the room indicated and closed the door behind her. After stripping from her wet clothes, she unbraided her long locks, and stroked her fingers through them. Jon loved her hair, even in England he had had a tendency to toy with the ends of it, and marvel at it. Their first night together, he had stroked it gently, as if to soothe her. The gesture had been a tender one, and a balm for her young, frightened heart. She felt young now, and she was younger then. She donned the dry clothes, and picked up her wet ones, before returning to the sitting room, to hang her clothes in front of the fire. As she did, there was a sharp banging on the front door.</p><p>“Tormund!”</p><p>It was Jon.</p><p>Sansa frowned.</p><p>Tormund laughed, “What did I tell ye, lass? A lad as smitten as your husband, was not likely to let you be out in this storm without coming to look for you.”</p><p>Straightening her spine, Sansa sat down in the chair.</p><p>Tormund let Jon in, and he came in talking, “Sansa’s gone….” The rest of his words died on his tongue as his eyes lighted on her, “Oh, thank God.”</p><p>Sansa gave him a half smile and looked at the ground.</p><p>“I thought you might be lost,” Jon said, “I know you said you needed time… that you might not come…”</p><p>“I know what I said,” Sansa replied softly, “And I’m sorry you are soaked through looking for me.”</p><p>He nodded and did not seem to know what to say, “I had to know for sure that you weren’t lost in this.”</p><p>“I nearly was, but Tormund found me.”</p><p>Tormund clapped Jon on the shoulder, “Well, the two of you can’t go home in the dark and the storm, so I suppose you will just have to stay the night here with me, and I’d be grateful for the company.”</p><p>“Aye, thank you, Tormund,” Jon said.</p><p>“The two of you can have my guest quarters,” Tormund chuckled, “I’ll get you some dry clothes.”</p><p>While Tormund stepped out, Jon stared down at Sansa. She stared right back. Tormund was only gone a moment, but when he returned, he sighed and smiled.</p><p>“Well, the two of you make for exciting company, and thrilling conversation.”</p><p>Sansa smiled at Tormund’s jest, and Jon sighed, and gave his friend that half smile of his. Tormund thrust some clothes at Jon.</p><p>“They might be a bit big for a little fellow like you,” He bellowed good naturedly.</p><p>Sansa felt inexplicably sad as she watched Jon and Tormund. Perhaps it would have been better if she had frozen and been eaten by wolves? She sighed and took another sip of tea.</p><p>“I have some bean stew for supper, not as good as Mrs. Targaryen’s cookin’ but it will do,” said Tormund.</p><p>“My cookin’ most of the time isn’t fit to eat,” Sansa chuckled.</p><p>“Nonsense,” Tormund bellowed, as he retrieved them some bowls and gave them each some stew.</p><hr/><p>                They listened to Tormund’s wild stories of the New World for the rest of the evening, as Tormund never suffered from lack of words, which suited them fine as neither Sansa nor Jon had much to say. When it came time to go to bed, Sansa felt her stomach clench, they would of course have to sleep together. Sansa started to stand.</p><p>“Don’t move, Sansa my lady,” Tormund reminded, “Your ankle…”</p><p>“Its feeling much better now Tormund, I think I can manage to get to the room.”</p><p>“What happened?” Jon asked in concern, coming to her side, and taking her by the elbow gently. </p><p>Sansa jerked her elbow away, “I fell, but I’m fine.”</p><p>“You weren’t able to walk earlier,” Tormund reminded.</p><p>Sansa glowered at him which only served to make him chuckle.</p><p>Jon looked anxious, “Is it broken?”</p><p>“No,” Sansa snapped.</p><p>“Still, you shouldn’t be putting weight on it,” Tormund said.</p><p>Jon reached for her, but she jerked away again, glaring at him, while simultaneously cursing at herself for likely looking like a wounded puppy.</p><p>“Don’t be stubborn, lass, let the man help,” Tormund said, “It won’t right all the wrongs…”</p><p>Mouth in a grim line, Sansa conceded, and reached out her arm to Jon to support her, but he surprised her by sweeping her off her feet.</p><p>“You don’t need to carry me, I just needed a little support,” Sansa grumbled.</p><p>Jon did not answer, only carried her to the room with Tormund’s extra bed, which happened to be rather small. Jon sat her down on it, and then bid Tormund goodnight before shutting the door behind them, leaving them alone.</p><p>“I can sleep on the floor,” Jon offered.</p><p>The floor was cold on her bare feet, “It won’t harm me for you to sleep in the bed, its too cold for you on the floor.”  </p><p>Jon nodded.</p><p>Sansa curled up on her side facing the wall, and Jon laid down beside her. The bed was indeed small. He placed his wayward hand on her side, and they lay there in silence for a few moments. Thunder clapped outside.</p><p>“I can’t go back, Jon,” Sansa whispered, “At least not yet anyway.</p><p>Jon shifted, “Back where?”</p><p>“Home…” She said softly, her heart pounding in her ears, “to the cabin… I’m not ready.”</p><p>Jon was silent for a few minutes, and then she felt his arm slip around her waist, to hold her just a little bit closer, “Aye, sweet girl, I know…” his voice was so sad.</p><p>Sansa felt tears sting the back of her eyes, and she covered his hand with her own. She did not yet know where she would go, but she could not go back to the cabin yet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next Chapter: Sansa and Tormund come to an agreement (Jon POV)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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